


Mother Knows Best

by aer3



Category: Friends
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Guilt, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2018-12-01 07:38:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11481714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aer3/pseuds/aer3
Summary: Uncertain of what to do with his burgeoning feelings for Rachel, Joey gets advice from the first woman he ever loved - his mom!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in an alternate Season 8 starting from TOW Chandler Takes a Bath.  
>    
> Also this is the first fic I've ever posted anywhere, so please be kind. :)

After his non-date with Rachel, Joey couldn't help but begin to see her in a different light. He wondered just how long she had been standing in that light and why he had failed to notice before now.  Maybe it was sunlight and he'd never actually opened his eyes until that moment. It felt like a week ago that he was sitting in the kitchen with his bowl of Frosted Flakes, trying to convince himself he was imagining it all. But then she stepped out of her room and that damn light hit her again. Or was it actually coming from her?  One conversation with Chandler later, he knew he was losing it. Luckily, or unluckily, he had a few long days of filming ahead of him that kept him occupied.

Now it was Saturday and he found himself sitting in his mom's kitchen staring at a plate of pasta. He spun the noodles around his fork then lifted it up to watch as they slid back onto the plate. He thought it was funny how the sauce didn't smell like he remembered it. In that way that wasn't funny at all. What was it about love that dulled the senses? It was the same recipe that always had him coming back for more. Any other time he'd be on his third helping by now. He suspected it wasn't really love's fault. Love wasn't the emotion in the forefront today. What he was feeling now was equal parts shame, guilt, and fear. No, it was still love's fault - otherwise he wouldn't be here at all. He was ashamed of feeling this way about his pregnant, best friend's ex -  his own best friend and roommate. He felt guilty for not caring about the complications and wanting her anyway. He feared she wouldn't feel the same. He was ashamed of wishing the baby was really his. He felt guilty for sometimes feeling like she was, and he feared how much he loved her already, not caring that she wasn't. He absentmindedly pushed the noodles around, as if the answer was buried there somewhere.

Gloria Tribbiani walked in, took one look at her only son not eating, and frowned. "Honey, don't play with your food."

He looked up and dropped the fork. "Sorry, Ma."

"It's alright hon. Now why don't you tell me what happened."

"Nothing happened."

"Uh huh."

"Really, Ma."

"Joseph Tribbiani, don't you lie to your mother. Your father and I raised you better than that! And I've never known you to leave a perfectly good meal untouched. Unless, you don't like my cooking anymore?"

"What? Ma, of course you know I love your cooking. I'm just, not hungry."

"Not hungry? Are you sure you're my son?"

"Heh, yeah. I know, but it's true"

"So honey, spit it out already. What's on your mind?"

He picked up his fork again, chasing the noodles around the plate. Now that he was here, he wasn't sure it was such a good idea. But he knew he couldn't hide his feelings from her. And he admitted to himself that he desperately wanted to talk to someone about them. He hoped she would understand.

"I, uh, I think I'm in love."

"What? Oh sweetheart, that's wonderful!" He looked up at her with sad eyes. "Oh Joey. I'm so sorry." She pulled him into a tight hug as if she hoped she could squeeze the melancholy right out of him. "What's the problem?"

She's my best friend. And my other friend's ex. And she's pregnant. With his baby. "It's complicated."

She gave him a knowing smile as she let go of him. "It doesn't have to be. Does Rachel love you, too?"

"I don't - wait, how did you know?"

"I'm your mother! Of course I know. You talk about her all the time. And don't change the subject."

"What? No I don't..."

"Joey..."

"Yeah, okay. I do. But it doesn't matter. I'm never going to do anything about it."

"What? Why not?"

"What about Ross? I can't do that to him."

"Is he in love with her?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Is she in love with him?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so. But it's Rachel. Formerly of Ross and Rachel. Ross's Rachel."

Gloria let out a heavy sigh just as Joey's youngest sister Dina walked in.

"Hey Ma. Hey Joey." She took in the full plate of food in front of her brother and the kicked puppy face. "What's the matter with him?"

Gloria looked over her shoulder to Dina. "He's in love with Rachel."

"Ma!"

“Aww, that's great Joey!" Dina pulled Joey into a tight embrace, not unlike the one his mother gave him.

“Uh, no. It's not!"

She pulled back to scowl at him. "What? You got a problem with pregnant women?”

He shook his head and threw his hands up. "She's my friend's ex-girlfriend, no ex-wife! And she's having his baby!” He exhaled sharply, slumping his shoulders. "It just, it can't work."

"So, does she love you?"

"Ma! She's Ross's ex. They're having a baby!"

"Yeah, you said that already."

Dina sat down opposite Joey and reached for his forearm. "Is he in love with her?"

"No, I don't think so." Answering the question for a second time did nothing to assuage his guilt. "But that doesn't change the fact that it's wrong! Even if she did have feelings for me, it could never work. I couldn't do that to him. And neither could Rachel."

"What, so, she's like, his now?" Dina asked, glaring at him. "You said they aren't together. She's doing the whole single mother thing like me."

"But don't you two see how wrong it is? I couldn't do that to Ross."

"Who the hell cares about Ross?! Do you even know if she has feelings for you?"

"Dina, it doesn't matter!"

"Uh, hello? Yeah, it does! It's the only thing that _does_ matter."

Joey turned to his mother, searching for the voice of reason. This wasn't how he expected this to go. "Ma, why aren't you upset about this?"

"Joey, sweetheart. Listen to your mother. It's never wrong to love someone."

His mouth fell open as he stared at her with wide eyes. "How can you say that after everything with dad?"

"You aren't your father."

He exhaled sharply and rolled his eyes. "Maybe you should have gone with a different name then."

"Joseph Tribbiani - "

"That's the same one, Ma - " Gloria closed her eyes, pressing a hand into her brow. She opened them to see a small smile on Joey's face. "Come on, that was kinda funny."

"I'm serious Joe, you aren't him."

"But Ma - "

"But nothing. Loving someone isn't wrong. Yes, it's wrong to break a commitment and to carry on behind someone's back. It's wrong to go looking for something to fulfill you while you neglect what you already have. But that has _nothing_ to do with you and Rachel."

His voice was quieter this time. "So you'll admit that what dad does is wrong?"

"Yeah. It is." Dina and Joey rested their hands on Gloria before she pulled them both in for another hug. After a minute she pulled back, wiping at an errant tear. "You both know I wish things with your father were different, but this isn't about that. You can't help who you love. So don't feel guilty about it. It's not wrong until you start lying and betraying trust. Even then it's not the love that was wrong. And you know that you being in love with Rachel is not at all like your father having a mistress. Right?

"Yes, Ma." He tried to mean it.

"Tell me." He looked at her wearily, then sighed. "I need you to say it."

"It's not the same," he droned.

"As what?"

"As dad having a mistress."

"Now once more with feeling."

"Ma..."

"Joey, I want you to mean it. I need you to mean it. Tell me that you know there's no reason to be ashamed of loving her."

He took a few calming breaths, letting his mother's words settle in his mind. "I'm not ashamed of loving Rachel." This time he meant it. Mostly.

Deciding he was sufficiently admonished, she continued. "If you love each other, that's nobody’s business but yours. Your relationship, should you have one, is between the two of you. If those people really are your friends they'll learn to live with it."

"I don't know, Ma."

Gloria stood up taking the plate of cold pasta with her and walked over to the microwave. After closing the door and pressing a few buttons she turned around to lean against the counter. "If the two of them aren't together and you love her, shouldn't she get to be the one to decide if she loves you back?"

She watched as emotions flitted across his face. Her heart ached as she recognized fear was the one that lingered. "But Ma, what if she doesn't love me?"

"Aww come on, who couldn't love you?"

He smiled slightly. "I'm serious Ma."

"So am I."

"You're just saying that because I'm your son."

"That doesn't mean it's not true." The microwave dinged and she pulled out the pasta. "Would you still love her if she didn't love you back?"

He studied his hands for a minute, then slowly nodded.

She set the plate in front of him before bringing her hand up to rest on his shoulder. "Joey, when you love someone, you tell them."

He met her gaze with the first genuine smile that afternoon. "I love you, Ma."

"Oh sweetheart," she pulled him into the tightest hug yet. "I love you too."

Dina stood up, hands on her hips in feigned anger. "Hey! What about me?"

"You're alright." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me apologize to anyone who has been waiting for an update. This chapter has been sitting here almost finished for months (!!!) but I couldn't get it right. Still not quite where I'd like it, but I've left it alone for far too long. Hope you enjoy it!

It had been three days since Joey's talk with Dina and his mom. Despite his mother's insistence that he had nothing to be ashamed of, he tried to purge his feelings for Rachel. He spent that night making a list of the things he didn't like about her. When that didn't work he spent the next day accepting what he felt was real. He couldn't help that he loved her, so he decided to embrace the notion that there was no shame in it. That didn't mean he would go around telling everyone. Dina had convinced him to determine Rachel's feelings before he worried about Ross's reaction. She was the smart one after all. Now the question was whether he could tell Rachel.

This was supposed to be a no-brainer. His mom says you let people know you love them, but what if it ruined everything? He wanted to tell her. More than anything he wanted everything to change. But he also worried once the ground stopped quaking and the dust settled he'd look up to see the line that kept him squarely in the friend zone had grown into a chasm, and he'd be stranded on the other side.

So he did nothing. Instead, he was in some kind of limbo. It wasn't such a bad place. It held possibility and promise, but it lacked substance. Really, there was nothing wrong with the "friend zone." It was her friendship that meant the most to him. That's what made this so special in the first place. But he couldn't live his whole life not knowing if they could be more. His restless hands were the only visible sign of the storm raging inside him. The fear that cursed him to inaction found its outlet as his fingers searched for something to grasp. Who needed happiness when there were pens? He heard a key turn in the lock and sighed. He reminded himself that it wasn't his fault he loved her. Come to think of it, if anything, it was her fault for being so damn wonderful.

Rachel walked into the apartment, eyes fixed on her purse. "Hi!"  
  
"Hey Rach."  
  
“You won't believe the day I'm having. Have you seen my-” Her words halted as she glanced up to see Joey hunched over the counter, beating an erratic tempo into the counter with a pen.  
  
"What'd that pen do to you?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
She leaned over the counter, resting her chin in her hands. "Is everything alright? You seem kinda down. You haven’t really been yourself lately." Maybe the restlessness wasn’t the only sign after all.  
  
"Yeah. No. I don't know."  
  
She pulled the bar stool out and sat down. "Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
"Nah, it's okay."  
  
"You sure?" He nodded. "Alright, if you change your mind I'll be here. You know you can tell me anything, right?"  
  
"Right," he said morosely. He twirled the pen in his fingers, staring at something only he could see.  

"Did I do something to upset you, Joe?"

He met her gaze for the first time since she walked in. His eyes, expert in the study of her face, saw the shadow of pain plain as day. "What? No, of course not. Why would you think that?"  
  
Laughing humorlessly, she waved a hand through the air. "I'm sorry sweetie, I think I’m projecting. My hormones are all screwy today or something."  
  
Now the pen was thumping a powerful staccato against the tile. She sighed softly and reached out to still his hands. "If you don't want to talk to me, I-I can see if Chandler's home? Maybe you could talk to him. I just - I hate to see you like this." He heard the whisper of sadness in her voice and he knew he put it there. Looking at her hand in his, he knew he couldn't stay in limbo much longer.   
  
"No, it’s alright. Actually, if you, uh, have the time, I think I would like to talk about it."  
  
"I always have time for you. But really, only if you want to."  
  
"I want to."  
  
She smiled and nodded a silent thank you. "Okay then. So, what's going on?"

"Diving right in there, huh?"

"Quit stalling, sweetie, or I'm taking the pen."

"Okay, okay." He threw up a hand in surrender and paused to collect his thoughts. "You see, uh, well... the thing is..." Maybe he needed another pause. "There's this girl – woman."

"I take it you like her?"

"You could say that."

"What's the problem, sweetie? Surely there's not a woman in Manhattan who would turn down a date with Joey Tribbiani." She smiled, waggling her eyebrows.

He laughed nervously. "It's complicated."  
  
"Oh, is she someone from work?"

Before he knew it his head was nodding and he heard his voice say, "Yeah.” He regretted the word the moment it left his lips, but he was reluctant to correct himself.

“Well, haven’t you gone out with women from work before?”

“I mean obviously I have, uh, dated... a lot of women. But I've never really been intimate with any of them before."

"Wait - what?"

Unaware of her confusion, he pressed on. "Sure I've been, well, _intimate_... but I never get close to the women I'm with, y'know?"

She nodded slowly. "Oh - right. Right, yeah, that makes more sense..."

"The few times I did..." He shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh.  He felt her fingers press into his. "So I kinda gave up on finding anything with, y'know, substance. Okay, so maybe I wasn't exactly looking. But this woman – she's something else." A smile played across his lips as he met her eyes.  "She's smart and funny and so... beautiful. Just being near her makes me smile."

Once he started talking, he found the words flowed unbidden. "I've never felt this way about anyone, Rach. And as terrifying as it is, something about loving y-" He broke off into a fake cough that quickly turned into a real coughing fit. At least now he had an excuse for the blush that crept up his face. Rachel got up to grab a soda from the refrigerator and slid it toward him as she sat back down.

“Thanks.”

“Sure. Now what were you saying?”

He took a sip and swallowed back the lump in his throat. "Something about loving her makes me brave. And now I can't understand how I ever thought any of those meaningless nights made me happy."

"And you think you should pass all that up because you work together?"

He groaned and rolled the pen between his fingers. "I don't know anymore."

"I see, so-so what?”  She stilled his restless hand again, setting the pen aside. "You're afraid if you tell her how you feel things will get uncomfortable with your colleagues?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's it – wow, you are good at this, Rach. I don't want to strain our, uh, professional relationship. We all spend a lot of time together, not just the two of us, and there is this great dynamic on set." He ran a hand roughly over his face and through his hair.  The lies kept piling up. Why couldn't he be honest?  "I've tried not to be in love with her, to get rid of these feelings. I even stayed up the other night making a list of all the things I don't like about her!"

"Joey!" She wrenched her hands away and glared at him. "What is it with men and their damn lists?!" She snatched the pen from the counter and drew it back as if preparing to throw it. He recoiled instinctively. This is what he got for being honest. The voice of his mother answered back. _No, this is what he got for telling the wrong truth_. His eyes were fixed on the pen in her hand, willing it to beat back the guilt that welled up anew. He braced for the impact but it never came. After a few shaky breaths Rachel lowered her arm. "I'm sorry sweetie. Did that help?"

“I’d feel a little better if you had thrown it, actually.”

Her laugh was warm and genuine this time, coaxing a smile from him. “No, I meant did the list.”

He laughed too, but it was hollow and left him cold. "Not at all. All I did was prove I was kidding myself. There's nothing wrong with her."

"Joey, nobody's perfect." Her words were punctuated by a gentle tapping that belied the wild thumping of her heart.  
  
"I know she isn't perfect, Rach, but it's like none of that matters. I don't want perfect. I want her."  
  
"Take it from me, don't put this poor girl on a pedestal. Just look at me and Ross! He spent years idolizing me, and no matter how much I tried I could never live up to the person he wanted me to be."  
  
"Yeah, but Ross didn't really know you then. I do. And I'm not idolizing anyone. I know she's not perfect. But I don't care about wet towels as long as it’s her hair clogging my drain. I don't care about being on time to dinner reservations as long as she's the one sitting across from me. It's like pizza. Sure, a frozen pizza might look perfect, all symmetrical and everything. The ingredients are all spaced out evenly, and every slice has the same combination of flavors. Every bite is the same, but it’s nothing to write home about. It's consistent, but it's not special. It's bland. And sure, maybe it's even a perfect circle. But have you ever eaten a great slice of pizza and thought, 'Wow, that was so round'? Of course not! Unless you’re Monica, who cares? But an authentic slice of New York pizza is handcrafted. Sure it might be more accurate to call it circular, sometimes the crust might have a few air pockets, but the flavors are incredible. And those imperfections are just proof of its authenticity."

"Are you really comparing this woman to a pizza?"

"Did I say pizza? I-I meant art! It's like art. Who wants some perfect reproduction when they could have the original masterpiece? All those little things come together and somehow it's those imperfections that make her so genuine... "

The sound of her soft tapping grew louder as his words faded to nothing. He might have noticed she had been staring at him if his eyes weren't transfixed on that stupid pen. She followed his gave and pulled open the drawer in front of her to stow it out of sight. Her movements stilled as her eyes fell on a crumpled sheet of yellow paper.

"Is that-"

"Yeah. Do you wanna-"

Her eyes snapped up to meet his. "What? No! Of course not. Well, yeah...okay." She traded pen for paper and pushed the drawer closed. Trembling fingers straightened the page, taking time to smooth out the creases. "Legal, Joe? Really? Letter size wasn't doing it for you?" She huffed once more, and finally let her eyes drop to scan the paper. Her scowl faded and silence stretched out between them again. 

It seemed the moisture in Joey's throat had somehow migrated to his hands. Years ago in this same apartment Rachel found the list he and Chandler had helped Ross make. And it was that list that inspired him to write this one. He didn’t remember what was on it, but he couldn’t forget the look on her face. It was frighteningly similar to the one she wore now. He felt the sharp pang of guilt that was his companion a few days ago. Except this time he knew he deserved it. He watched as she took in his words, reading her eyes like a diary. Anger, surprise, relief, heartache.

“She made me switch to light mayo."  
  
"You-you know, for the sandwiches they make on the set."

"You spent all night writing this?"

"Yeah."

"And this is all you got?"

"Yeah."

If Rachel hadn't been so captivated by the message in the blank spaces maybe she could have made sense of the one left in ink. She dabbed at her eyes, avoiding his gaze. “Damn hormones,” she muttered. He searched her face for the words she wouldn’t say but it was as blank the paper she still held in a white knuckled fist. Something shifted and she met his gaze. Her head tilted and her brow furrowed in confusion. "What's wrong with light mayo?"

His brows knitted together and he gaped at her. Did she still not understand? Maybe this was fate telling him to take the coward's way out. He released a strangled breath, caught somewhere between relief and desperation. "That's the thing, nothing! It tastes the same and my pants fit better!" His shoulders and he held his head in his hands. "But none of that matters because I'll probably never tell her."

"What? Why not?"

"I'll get over these feelings eventually, right? And until then I'll learn to be happy with the parts of her life I get to share. I see her all the time. At work! I don't want to risk messing that up."

"How do you go from talking about how great she is and how much you love her to saying you'll just get over her? Do you think your love would be some kind of burden?"

"I just want her to be happy."  
  
"Why don't you get to be happy, too? She may not feel the same way, but she could hardly be mad at you for loving her."

"You think so?"

"I do. And if she has the nerve to be _inconvenienced_ by your love for her... I-I can beat her up for you!"

He chuckled mirthlessly. What was he getting himself into? "You really think I should tell her?"  
  
"Honey, if someone loved me the way you love her, believe me, I would want to know."

He drew himself up to take in the sight of her. "Really?"  
  
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but her smile was as broad as he’d ever seen. "Absolutely."

This was it. He wanted to tell her. She wanted to know. So why were his lips not moving? He took a calming breath but before he could form the words Rachel's phone buzzed.

Rachel glanced down aand groaned. "Shoot. I should go. Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I am. Thanks, Rach.” 

“Good." She stood up and walked around the island with open arms.  He stepped into her embrace, pulling her into his chest. "And you're welcome, sweetie. I have to get back to work, but I'll see you tonight?"  
  
"Sure thing." He could wait until then. 


End file.
